Read Online Trinity by Conn Iggulden - Free Book Online Page A

Henry’s son his rights of blood and inheritance. Yet he could not escape the suspicion that he had missed something. York surely gained nothing by allowing the line of Lancaster to go on for another generation. If there was ever a time to declare for the throne, Somerset was certain it was that very moment. King Henry was still senseless, witless, drowned in fog. York had ruled in the king’s name for more than a year with neither disasters nor invasion from France, beyond the usual raids on shipping and the coastal towns. Somerset was only too aware that York’s popularity was growing. Yet there it was, on papers Parliament had witnessed and passed on for the Lords and of course York himself to sign, seal and make law. The men in that room would confirm a baby boy as the future king of England. Somerset shook his head irritably as two more barons cleared their throats, wanting to move on to lunch and the afternoon.
    ‘This has been four months in the making,’ Somerset said without looking up. ‘You’ll wait a moment more while I read it through again.’
    York sighed audibly, settling back in his chair and staring up at the ceiling high above. He could see the mud nest of a swallow in the rafters, some valiant or perhaps foolish little bird who had chosen that room to raise its young. York thought he could see a flicker of movement at the entrance hole and fixed his gaze on it, content to wait.
    ‘The boy Edward will be invested in Windsor,’ Somerset said aloud. ‘There is no mention here of regents while he grows.’
    York smiled.
    ‘His father is still king, Edmund. Appointing a regent would be an error twice-over. I have agreed to protect and defend the kingdom for the duration of King Henry’s illness. Would you have me appoint a third man, or a fourth? Perhaps you would have us all ruling England by the time you are done.’
    Chuckles echoed his words around the table, while Somerset glowered.
    ‘King Henry will wake from whatever presses him down,’ he replied. ‘Where will you be then, my lord York?’
    ‘I pray for it,’ York said, his eyes showing only amusement. ‘I have services said every day that I may lay down the terrible burden of my authority. My father’s line may come from King Edward, but the sons of John of Gaunt stand before mine. I have not desired the throne, Edmund. All I have done is to keep England safe and whole, that small thing, while her king dreams. I am not the father to this child, only his Protector.’
    There was a subtle emphasis in his final words and though Somerset knew York sought to goad him, he bristled even so, his right fist clenching on the table. He had heard the rumours drifting through the Lords and the Commons. Such whispers were beneath contempt, sprung from the wicked desire to ruin Queen Margaret and deny her son his rightful place. With a muttered curse, Somerset snatched up a quill and signed his name with a flourish, allowing the scribes in attendance to take the scroll from him and sand the ink before passing it at last to York.
    Perhaps to infuriate the older man, York let his own gaze pass slowly over the words in turn. It was not a moment to rush and he scratched his neck as he read, sensing the amusement in the other men and the simmering anger in the duke across from him. In truth, York had considered delaying the passage of the discussions in Parliament even further. If King Henry passed from the world before it was signed and sealed, York was at that moment the royal heir. He had been made so by statute four years before, when it had seemed the queen was barren, or the king unable to perform his duties.
    The thought was a pinch in his mind, even then, that only his own signature lay between himself and the Crown. Yet Salisbury had persuaded him. The head of the Neville family knew better than anyone how to manage power and secure it for those of his own blood. It was most gratifying to see all that Neville intellect and cunning employed to